


Dreaming?

by Flame_05



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:15:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29223051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flame_05/pseuds/Flame_05
Summary: It almost seemed to call to him, the darkness, as eery shadows tried to come at him from every dark spot. He’d lie on his bedroll, too afraid to close his eyes and fighting his tiredness for as long as he could.When he closed his eyes, he knew the dreams would come.
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

The paper rustled as Hosea lowered it, the remains of his mug of coffee chilled through. He sighed contentedly, savouring the moment.  
Hosea enjoyed mornings like this, calm, and still. The gentle bustle of camp as everyone slowly woke up and got on with their days.

Gazing around at nothing in particular, his eye was suddenly drawn to Jack. The small boy was sitting on the ground gazing ahead forlornly. Unlike Hosea, there seemed to be nothing calm about the boy, instead an air of sadness.

Hosea frowned. Jack was a well enough behaved lad, and whenever he did something to earn a telling off from his mother he was never one to sulk. Hosea was at a loss as to what could have the child looking so downright miserable this morning.

He stood slowly, stretching stiff joints which seemed to be determined to give him a daily reminder of his creeping age, and looked around for John. Perhaps he should, once again, remind him to take his duties as a father seriously, and give the lad some attention.

Catching Karen as she passed to return the gun having finishing guard duty, he asked her “have you seen John around this morning?”

“Sure, he headed out pretty early, out on a job with Davey and Mac.” Karen replied with a yawn, then headed off towards her bedroll.

Hosea swapped his attention to finding Abigail, whatever was troubling the boy his mother was sure to know about.

Humming absentmindedly, Abigail sat darning socks as Hosea approached from behind. Giving her shoulder a quick squeeze, he greeted her a warm good morning and sat across from her.

“Can’t help but notice that young Jack seems unusually quiet this morning, in fact I’d almost say that he was looking sad. Has something happened?” Hosea gently pressed. As a sort of surrogate grandfather to the boy, it was not unusual for he and Abigail to discuss his wellbeing. 

Abigail frowned for a moment before speaking, “well, he ain’t been sleeping too well of late…”

Evenings with the Van Der Linde gang were mostly pleasant. With such a crowd calling themselves friends and family, a few hours to relax in the evening would often become campfire stories, sing alongs or amusingly drunken antics. 

Jack had always felt loved and most of all safe, but not now.

Now, as the evening light faded to black, not even the warm orange hues of their fires and lanterns, or the soft glow from the moon and stars, would comfort him from the vastness of nights darkness.

It almost seemed to call to him, the darkness, as eery shadows tried to come at him from every dark spot. He’d lie on his bedroll, too afraid to close his eyes and fighting his tiredness for as long as he could. 

When he closed his eyes, he knew the dreams would come.

He would wake in a fit of small yelps, or trembling and panting to catch his breath, only to soon be hushed and comforted by his mother, then inevitably spend the rest of the night awake, fear keeping him from sleep. Other times, he would wake silently, too gripped with fear to do anything to alert his mother and instead lie frozen in terror until the morning light came, and the rest of camp awoke.

His mother had tried to make him tell her about his dreams, and lately even Hosea has joined her effort. Jack’s young mind didn’t know how to put his fear into words, and grew more desperate as each night brought him new terrors.

Hosea had brought him a warm mug of cocoa, and a new adventure book, and read to him until his eyes grew tired. Sat protected in Hosea’s lap, with the mother sitting close by, for a moment he forgot about the ever insistent darkness. 

The darkness however, did not forget about Jack, as soon as the child’s eyes had closed, it swept over him.


	2. Orphan

When Jack opened his eyes, he knew he wasn’t really awake.

This knowledge offered him no comfort however, as his many previous attempts had taught him he would not be able to waken himself, and instead must endure whatever new torment the darkness had brought to him.

He was in the grounds of a grand house, magnificent gardens being tended to by countless gardeners, and even armed guards patrolling. Hastily he started to walk away from the guards from fear of having a bullet fired through his small body. He tried to keep his anxiety at bay, and not run or do anything to draw attention to himself.

He had also learned that what could look like people within his dreams often were not, and he remained wary of the scattered gardeners.

As he neared the house, a familiar voice reached his ears.

“Mama?” He called out, trying to follow her familiar voice, though she had not replied to his call.

As he turned the corner, he faltered. It felt so real, that although his surroundings were unfamiliar he still found himself wondering whether he really was awake, because standing not far away, on the porch of the house, were his parents.

They were standing chatting, each holding a steaming mug of coffee, smiling and at ease.

“Mama? Pa?” Jack called out hopefully.

Suddenly they turned to face him, and their smiles soon fell.

“What on earth is this street rat doing in our home? John, get him away!” The lady who looked like his moma held a hand of shock to her face, while the man who looked like his pa took on an expression of thunder.

“How did you get in here? How dare you address us!” With terrifying aggression he threw his mug towards Jack, who whimpered as he ducked out the way, not knowing what to do.

“Where are the dogs? Go on, get him!” John raged as suddenly ferociously large dogs came bounding round the corner of the house, right towards Jack.

Gripped tightly by fear, Jack turned and ran. His little feet pounding off the ground as he willed himself to move faster, but could hear the dogs as they got closer and closer. 

Suddenly, teeth were tearing into his flesh and he was screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, Jack!


	3. What's wrong with the boy?

“Why hasn’t the lad been paying attention to Cain?” Sean slurred.

“What?” John frowned, confused. It was no secret that he was a reluctant father, and wasn’t in the habit of discussing Jack around the campfire. 

“His dog, they’re usually inseparable, but the last few days your boy won’t give him a moment’s attention” Sean pressed.

In all honestly, John hadn’t noticed at all. Unless Abigail brought something to his attention, he didn’t take too much notice of the boy.

“He’s a boy, he’s probably found something else as entertainment for now. The dog'll be fine.” John growled at Sean, who shrugged and changed the topic of conversation as they drunk on.

John was still sat by the fire a few hours later, absentmindedly chewing on a cigar, too lazy to move to his tent. Sean was sprawled out across from him, snoring loudly, while the rest of camp slept.

A small noise drew John’s attention. A whimper.  
Turning his head, the noise came again, and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes when he realised it was coming from Jack. He was too tired and drunk to try doing any fathering tonight. When the whimper became more frantic, John reluctantly dragged himself to stand. 

Making his way towards Jack’s bedroll, he glanced at Abigail as she lay sound asleep, not yet alerted to her son’s distress. John vaguely recalled her having said something about being tired, but he hadn’t paid her much heed. Clearly she hadn’t been exaggerating though, Jack’s whimpers had grown in volume and John knew Abigail must be exhausted to have not yet been woken.

He crouched beside Jack, unsure what to do. The small boy’s featured were creased with fear, and twitched from side to side while crying out. 

“Poor kid, must be one hell of a nightmare.” John muttered to himself, reaching out a hand to brush Jack’s hair from his sweaty forehead.

“Alright now kid, time to wake up.” John softy whispered, giving Jack’s shoulder a small shake. Jack’s eyes flew open, wide with fear, and the boy latched himself around John’s neck.

John awkwardly patted Jack’s back as he trembled with sobs. Glancing up, he met Abigail’s worried eyes as she sat watching them. Just what was wrong with their boy?

Arthur watched Jack as he stomped around the mud of the river bank, a frown etched deep into his young face. There was something wrong with the boy, John had told Arthur. He wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t playing, wasn’t even smiling. Abigail was at her wits end, Hosea at a loss, and the only thing that John could think to do was to tell Arthur.

So Arthur watched. He was like an uncle to the boy, and he cared about him more strongly than he was able to put into words. He wanted the boy to talk to him, to tell him what was wrong and how he could help. Arthur was good with his fists, with his guns, but sitting down and being emotional was not his skillset. For Jack though, he would try.

Jack had begun to pick up rocks, and hurtling them into the water with as much strength as his little arms would allow. It wasn’t play though, Arthur observed, it was anger with which he was throwing. Arthur walked up behind him, and cleared his throat.

“Hey there Jack, how goes it?” but Jack barely acknowledged that he had heard, continuing to pick and hurtle rocks into the water. 

“Hey now, I’m talkin’ to you, Jack.” Arthur tried again, resting a hand on Jack’s shoulder, and the boy looked up at him with round, worried eyes.

“How about we sit down and have a little talk, hmm?” Arthur gently steered Jack towards a nearby log. “Did I ever tell you about the time…”

Slowly, Jack turned to face Arthur as he told the story of how, when he was a boy himself, for a while he had not liked the dark, but that eventually he had realised that there wasn’t really anything to be afraid of.

Arthur watched Jack hopefully as the he seemed to process Arthur’s story, then taking in a shaky breath, he opened his mouth to speak.

“Well if it isn’t King Arthur” Sean suddenly boomed from behind them, passing by on guard duty. Startled, Jack leapt to his feet and darted away.

“You moron, Sean!” Arthur growled, “he was about to tell me something, now you’ve scared him off!”

Sean had the good grace to look abashed as Arthur glared at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Typical Sean, opening his mouth at the wrong time!


	4. O'Driscoll's and Fire

Jack squirmed and tried with all his might to break free from the ropes keeping him bound tightly.   
He could hear Irish jeers all around him as his captors celebrated, and he was helpless to escape.

“They’re gonna come for me, you wait, then you’ll be sorry!” He tried to sound brave as he shouted, knowing that his Uncle Arthur would be there soon. He could trust Uncle Arthur, he knew it.

In perfect timing, he saw Arthur run into the clearing, guns a blazing. Taking some out with bullets, others with his fists, Jack watched Uncle Arthur and his fear faded.

A lantern was knocked to the ground while Arthur fought, and the man paused to watch the flames. A slow smile spread across his features, and viciously he kicked the lantern towards the nearest man, who was quickly engulfed by the fire. 

Jack shuddered at the sounds of the mans screams, and watched with growing horror as his Uncle Arthur continued to throw lanterns and fire around the camp, while the men screamed in agony and the foul stench of burning filled the air.

“Uncle Arthur, Uncle Arthur!” Jack cried out, becoming fearful once again the flames drew closer to where he lay tied.

Arthur turned towards him, that smile still spread across his face, and Jack found his breath hitching.

“Well, look what we have here.” Uncle Arthur stopped a few feet away, looking down at him with a tilted head. “Little Jack. You didn’t think I came here for you, did you?” Arthur laughed, loud and unlike any laugh Jack had heard from him before.

“What do you mean, Uncle Arthur? Help me! You said you’d help me!” Jack cried out, confusion and fear engulfing him as Arthur continued to laugh coldly.

“Ain’t no one coming for you, boah. We’ll all be glad to see the back of you.” Arthur kicked a lantern, which spilled fire as it rolled closer to Jack.

He struggled against his bonds with all his might, crying in fear as the flames drew closer and closer, then screaming as the agony of burning hit him.

Then he woke up.


End file.
